


The Booth

by Golyadkin



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, An AU of an AU, Gen, Mirror Mirror, Regular Chekov and regular Uhura both show up but not very long, but the second au is canon, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golyadkin/pseuds/Golyadkin
Summary: What if in Mirror Mirror the CMO had been in charge of operating the Agony Booth?"No matter how terrible the truth was, the Vulcan was right; McCoy was sitting in a parallel universe with a loaded gun in his hand and no options left but to shoot someone. The only choice that remained was who.





	

McCoy paced the room anxiously, his hands gripped behind his back white-knuckled and his golden sash flipping back and forth at his hip. The terror of the past few hours had never let up, the disquieting feeling of being somewhere you are not meant to be only seeming to build as time dragged on. Add on the anxiety of this ridiculous plan and you had yourself the perfect recipe for a complete psychological break. Energy was flowing continuously through Bones’ body, making his skin itch and his muscles twitch, and yet there was nothing he could do but wait and pace. Wait and pace.

“Yer gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up,” Scotty declared.

“He should be here by now,” McCoy replied without reducing his speed. Waiting and pacing, pacing and waiting. “It’s been too long, something must have happened.”

Scotty watched the doctor with a combination of empathy and apprehension, his ever-twinkling eyes anxious in the bright light of the corridor. They had only been waiting for a short time, McCoy knew, but he couldn’t help being restless. Everything they had seen so far in this ungodly place made his nerves fray. Even though he knew this was some parallel universe, some other place, the sight of scowls and daggers on crewmen he had known so well, and knew were good, honest people, frightened him. Everything was so familiar, he had to remind himself this wasn’t his ship, this wasn’t his crew.

“We shouldn’t have let him go up to the Bridge,” he muttered sharply. “Him and Uhura should never have gone with that fuzzy-faced Vulcan. It’s too dangerous for us to be separating like this.”

“The Captain is a capable man,” Scotty reassured him. “And Uhura is one feisty lass. I wouldn’t think there’s any situation they can’t handle so long as they keep their confidence.”

Bones stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the engineer hard. “Capable doesn’t mean smart. I trust Uhura to keep herself safe, but Jim’s pigheadedness is bound to get him noticed sooner or later.” He shook his head and scowled. “If they get caught we’ve got no chance of getting out of here.”

Scotty didn’t reply, but McCoy could tell from his expression that he knew it was the truth. If even one of them was found out it would put the rest of them under suspicion and they would never be able to get home. Who knew what these sick bastards would do to them. An image of that poor transporter operator getting tortured forced itself into his mind and made him shudder. If that was punishment for a minor transgression he couldn’t begin to imagine what they would do to a convicted felon. No. This was certainly not a place he wanted to spend the remainder of his days.

With another frown and a sigh, he joined Scotty where he stood leaning against the door that housed Kirk’s quarters. The corridor was mostly empty, only the odd crewman wandering through on their way out of a shift, so it left the two of them feeling alone and exposed. The cameras set into the bulkhead at every corner, however, was a constant reminder than on this ship they were never truly alone. McCoy assumed that they only picked up video and not sound, but he still had to fight the impulse to watch the cameras untrustingly.

“Aye, the captain may be pigheaded,” Scotty told the doctor after a brief silence. “But he’s no fool. He knows he’s got us waiting for him, I doubt he would do anything to jeopardize our chances. Besides, he cares too much for that ship to never see her again.”

“I’ll assume the same goes for you.”

“It’s damn near treason what they’ve done to the Enterprise,” he exclaimed. “Even with just a glance in at Engineering I can see they’ve recalibrated the lot of it to weaken the shields and strengthen the weapons. Oh, aye, it looks the same, but I can tell you not one bit of her’s gone unmodified. The poor old girl’s become a warship under their command.” He crossed his arms tightly and cast McCoy the saddest look he’d ever seen. “No matter what she says on her hull, this ship is not the Enterprise.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” McCoy replied, “You can’t even begin to imagine what barbarities were waiting for me in Sickbay.” Thoughts of sharp tools and pained faces were sickeningly close at hand and he wondered if these villains even used painkillers. Taking bets on the pain tolerance of their patients, the nurses were everything he despised. Considering they purposefully tortured innocent crewmen it wasn’t beyond reason to assume the value his double had for human life was considerably less than his own. “Animals,” he muttered. “If they had even a shred of decency they would-“

“Dr. McCoy, report to the Booth,” the intercom interrupted him.

Both the doctor and the engineer stared at the wall panel as it silenced. McCoy swore. “What is it now?” he muttered. If the Captain had been discovered they would be calling both him and the engineer to whatever the Booth was, so he could only assume this was some duty his other self had to perform and one he didn’t much care to.

“It can’t be anything good,” Scotty stated, voicing Bones’ own thoughts. “What in blazes is the Booth?” he asked, casting Bones a concerned glance.

“I couldn’t begin to tell you,” McCoy replied truthfully, “Probably some new and wondrous horror. Looking around this place it could be anything."

“Nothing I’d like to see.”

McCoy scoffed. “Me neither, Scotty. Lucky it wasn’t you called down there.”

He stood by the door for a moment more before reluctantly approaching the intercom. As he reached for the button to respond, Scotty cried out, making him flinch, “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m responding to them!” McCoy answered irritably. “I can’t just let them go without an answer! If they think something’s wrong with me they’ll come looking and we’ll all be hogtied.”

“Well, obviously yer answering them, but what on Earth do you plan to say?”

The confusion on Scotty’s face was apparent and McCoy couldn’t help but feel a little uncertain himself. Problem solving under stress when it didn’t involve an aorta or a compound fracture wasn’t his strong suit, but he put up a stubborn front and told the engineer, “I plan to say that I’ll be down there in a moment.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What do you expect me to say? I don’t exactly have a shining alibi.” He grimaced. What was he supposed to tell them? I can’t come because I’m waiting for the Captain who isn’t really the Captain so we can escape to another universe where everything makes sense? Nonsense. The only reply he could give was the one answer they expected to hear. “Nothing says I actually have to go down there after,” he reasoned, both for Scotty’s sake and his own, “I just have to tell them I will.”

Ignoring the reproachful look he got in response, Bones turned to the intercom and pressed the button. “McCoy here. I’ll be down there in a moment.”

“Acknowledged,” came the steady reply.

The slight white noise of the system cut out and Bones turned back to Scotty feeling even more tense than before. “Easy as pie,” he said bleakly.

“Easy as pie until they find out you’re not really on your way. What happens if Captain Kirk doesn’t get here soon? They’ll be hunting you down! Suppose they find you in his quarters? Then what?”

A scowl curled McCoy’s mouth at the unhappy view Scotty was providing and the uncertainty he was already suffering. He really didn’t need an engineer to tell him how terribly he was handling the situation, making him feel worse rather than better. What had happened to the reassurances of only moments ago? Sure, it may not have been the best path of action, but it was the only valid one he could come up with at the moment, and he’d like to see his companion come up with something better. “Jim will be here,” he insisted. “God knows it’s been long enough. I’ll bet he and Uhura are on their way right now.” Assuming they didn’t decide to go off on some exploratory adventure without them, damned thrill-seekers.

“Computer,” Scotty called out, still looking darkly at McCoy, “Locate Captain Kirk.”

“Captain Kirk is on Deck 4.” The words instantly flooded Bones with relief, he wanted to kiss the computer.

“What did I tell you?” the doctor boasted.

“Computer,” Scotty said again, “Locate Lt. Uhura.”

“Lieutenant Uhura is on the Bridge.”

Scotty raised his eyebrows knowingly and McCoy hid his apprehension with a glower. If Uhura was still on the Bridge then that meant that not only was she not on her way, but that there was still plenty of time for McCoy’s recently acquired obligation to notice that he wasn’t either. “So what do you suggest I do?” he spat.

Scotty huffed a laugh. “You’ve dug your grave and now you’ve got to lay in it.”

“Hell of an expression to pull out at a time like this.” Scotty pursed his lips and tilted his head at the doctor, an infuriating look that reminded him of a Vulcan he’d never thought he would miss. The look never failed to make him feel like an idiot, but for once he may have agreed with the sentiment. “Damn it all,” he groaned. “Computer.” The ship chirped to attention. “Where is the Booth?”

“The booth is located on Deck 4 section 3.”

“Now don’t you go leaving without me,” he instructed Scotty.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Scotty said with a sobering smile.

Bones returned the smile and gave a nod before walking stiffly down the hall.

It couldn’t be anything too important, he reasoned, otherwise they would have been more insistent, said it was an emergency. He didn’t know what this Booth thing was, but there was nothing to make him believe it was something he should fear, especially considering his role on the ship. Actively ignoring the modifications he knew had been imposed on this Enterprise, this was still a ship of exploration and he was still a doctor. Probably just a paperwork issue, he told himself, or some consultation. Maybe it was even the Captain calling him to discretely help him get away, the computer did say he was on that level.

Once he had ridden the turbolift down to the proper deck, the computer provided him with more specific directions and he had to fight harder to control the dread growing in his heart. The sinking feeling of the elevator stayed with him as he neared his destination. All the rooms he passed were exactly what they should be on this level. On the surface there didn’t seem to be anything out of place, the troubling icons on the doors notwithstanding, but somehow this only served to make him more anxious. It felt as though the more normal the area was that he was made to walk through the more horrible and twisted his destination would be. He hadn’t recognized the voice of the woman who had called him down, but this didn’t mean that they weren’t medical. There were more than enough differences in this universe to make the assumption that there may be crewmembers who were in different places or were altogether new.

“Don’t make assumptions, Leonard,” he muttered to himself. “This isn’t your Enterprise.”

After a few minutes of walking he arrived at the door the computer had indicated as being the room the Booth was located and stopped before it to take a deep breath. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Once he had steeled himself sufficiently he took a step forward and the doors opened. What he saw within provided him as much with confusion as with distress.

The room was a moderate size, slightly smaller than the main room in Sickbay, and had the same feeling of sterilization. Security personnel stood at attention around the borders of the room and crewmen huddled around a control terminal, similar to the transporter control, which sat in the centre facing away from him. But at the far end of the room was where his attention was drawn as a security team of three struggled to get a smallish man up onto a circular platform surrounded by a glass enclosure. The Booth, his mind provided. It was certainly the focal point of the room and the thing that the control panel monitored, though he couldn’t begin to guess at what it did. 

A shout from the struggling crewman caught his ear and the shock that gripped him was quickly replaced with horror. “Chekov?” he exclaimed.

The young navigator was putting up a valiant fight, but he was small and not very strong. Any hand he shook off was quickly replaced by another and the men they belonged to were much larger and more powerful looking than him. McCoy caught himself before he ran forward to assist the Russian and watched as the three larger men managed to pin Chekov’s arms to his sides and lift him forcibly into the Booth. The struggle continued as they pushed him through the opening in the enclosure and he slammed against the opposite side, turning quickly and rushing his captors. But it was no use and three pairs of hands held off the young man’s fumbling attacks until, frustrated and angry, he gave up.

“What in blazes is going on here?” McCoy exclaimed. It took him a moment to remember to respond to the crewmen’s waiting salute and once he did all of the residents of the room stood neatly to attention aside from Chekov who glared out at him from his prison. Catching sight of a man in science blue standing by the control station, Bones strode over and turned his interrogations on him full-force. “What is this? What’s going on in here?”

Fortunately, his rage matched with his rank fooled the lieutenant into believing the questions were from his usual superior and, looking respectfully into the distance, the man replied stoically, “Ensign Chekov attempted to assassinate the Captain with a band of his cronies. Crewman Thomas managed to put him off just in time.”

Well that certainly explained the holdup. “Assassinate? Is the Captain okay?” he demanded to know, his mind instantly overtaken by worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alive sir,” the crewman replied, almost bitterly.

McCoy waited for an elaboration, but it seemed none was forthcoming. The need for discretion was too much of a barrier to his curiosity and concern, but for the sake of Scotty and Uhura he didn’t press it. “Crying shame,” he finally replied. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

The man looked at the doctor with uncertainty. “Well,” he said, “Mr. Chekov’s been sent for punishment in the Agony Booth.”

Agony Booth? Remembering a little device with a similar name, McCoy stared at the officer in dismay before turning back to his young friend trapped within the glass walls of the little torture chamber. Chekov gazed back at him fiercely, arms folded tightly across his chest and a sneer twisting at his lip. The realization that the Booth was just a larger, more powerful version of the tiny agonizers that each of the crew carried with them made McCoy’s stomach drop. He could only assume that he had been called down to operate the nightmarish machine, torture Chekov for his wrongdoings, maybe even kill him. The mere idea of it made him dizzy.

“You mean to tell me-“ he began, but stopped. This was no time for such questions, not surrounded by security guards armed with knives and phasers. If there was ever a time to maintain his cover it was now. But torture was too much. He couldn’t do it.

The whole time he had been in this universe had felt like a dream. A very bad dream. The half-recognizable crew and ship gave him an uneasy feeling in his head and his gut, nothing quite seemed real. But now, with this added shock, the feeling had intensified. There was no way this could be real, absolutely no way this was really happening. He couldn’t imagine himself, in any universe, being accessory to torture, not even under such a serious offence. There was a distinct notion in his mind that if he allowed this to happen he would no longer be Leonard McCoy. Even ignoring his oath as a doctor to cause no harm, this simply wasn’t morally acceptable.

There had to be a way out of this, something he could say or do to prevent it from happening without ruining everything and getting trapped here for the rest of his life. Looking at the Booth there was a good bet if he did stay, the rest of his life would not be very long.

“I know what he’s here for!” he snapped, hoping his other’s reputation would be enough to overshadow his little slip. The Lieutenant shot back to attention, clearly terrified in a way that made McCoy despair. Was his other self really so terrible? “I meant…” He glanced down to the control panel for ideas and spotted a dial obviously meant for intensity. “I meant what’s the sentence?”

“We don’t know yet sir. The Captain hasn’t issued one yet.”

“And you want me to turn this thing on without the Captain’s definitive verdict? What kind of fool do you take me for?” The whole shtick sounded very exaggerated coming out of his mouth and he wondered a moment if he was overdoing it. But the poor officer seemed to be completely taken by it and was nearly trembling in fear.

“Sir, we don’t need a full sentence to begin carrying it out. It’s standard, sir.”

“Is that lip you’re giving me, boy? What’s your name?”

“Fenton, sir.”

“Fenton. Are you questioning me Lt. Fenton?”

“No, sir.”

McCoy was thoroughly disgusted in himself. He knew he wasn’t the easiest man to work under in Sickbay, but he was nowhere near as bad as his counterpart appeared to be. Once again he found himself imagining what kind of butcher shop the sickbay was here. They probably used hacksaws to amputate sprained ankles. 

“I’m sick of finding out what kind of punishment I’m doling out after I’ve already done it,” he spat, tucking his arms behind his back and trying to look authoritative. “I’m not touching one button on that control panel until I find out what the Captain has to say.” Come on, Jim, he pleaded silently. Get me out of this mess.

A banging noise sounded from the other end of the room. Chekov was slamming the glass walls of his enclosure with open palms wearing a vile look that would never have graced the face of the other Chekov. “Come on, doctor,” he called out, giving the wall one final slam. “Hit the switch and finish me off, I am sick of waiting!”

“Keep it down in there!” a security officer yelled back, slamming his own fist against the glass.

“This is getting tiresome, doctor,” Chekov continued, undeterred. “Either throw the switch or let me out, but do not keep me waiting!” He slammed the glass three more times to drive his point home before turning and pacing in his tiny prison like a caged animal.

“We can’t make him wait anymore,” Fenton told McCoy. “We’ve got his henchmen to punish as well and it’s cruel to drag this out.”

“Cruel?” McCoy cried in astonishment. “Making him wait is cruel? Torturing him is cruel! Throwing him in a box is cruel! Zapping people with those damn dog collars is cruel! I don’t intend to keep him waiting, lieutenant, because I don’t intend to turn that horror contraption on!”

“Is there a problem in here, doctor?” came a familiar voice.

McCoy froze. All the eyes in the room, which had been fixed on him through his tirade, were now directed to an open doorway near the Booth. All of the officers, Chekov excluded, stood to attention once more and bumped their chests in salute. Turning slowly, the doctor found that the bearded Spock was indeed standing in that doorway, patient expression dripping with warning and Jim Kirk floating worriedly at his side. The two men saluted as well, one crisply and one hesitantly, and all the raised hands in the room dropped. McCoy did not salute.

“Spock,” he greeted the Vulcan neutrally. His heart was pounding. “Didn’t realize you would be dropping by.”

Kirk was staring up at Chekov, a confused frown plastered to his face, as the young ensign pointedly looked away. He didn’t seem any the worse for wear after the alleged attack, which soothed McCoy a little, but as he turned and made eye contact with the doctor the damage was written across his face. Horror and confusion at the situation, a desperation to escape, all barely contained behind his carefully controlled features. Being near another sane figure gave McCoy some slight strength, but from across the room he wondered if the captain could see the pleading in his eyes.

“I asked if there was a problem, doctor,” Spock repeated more forcibly.

“No problem,” McCoy lied. “Just a halfwit lieutenant who doesn’t know how to let me do my job.”

Spock turned his attention to Fenton who bowed his head fearfully. “Dr. McCoy was refusing to turn on the Booth, sir,” he reported. “He said it was cruel.”

“Is this true, doctor?”

McCoy shot a glare at the squirming officer before replying, “I was saying it was cruel to make Chekov wait in that contraption while the Captain made up his mind what to do with him.”

“But-“ Fenton started, but McCoy cut him off.

“Did I ask for your opinion, Lieutenant?”

Fenton lowered his gaze again and the cowed expression on his face added more guilt to the supply McCoy was swiftly collecting. He didn’t have time to be worried about hurting some officer’s feelings, however, there were graver consequences to be worried about. His heart was throwing itself against his ribcage as he tried to ignore the panic building up within him.

Spock didn’t react, however – he never did - but instead kept a cool eye trained on the doctor. McCoy hoped he wasn’t visibly sweating. “I don’t believe I understand the problem,” the Vulcan said calmly. “Never before have you raised issue about the sentence your patients receive. Am I to believe that you wish to be informed of an outcome before you begin?”

“Damn right,” McCoy told him, forcing certainty into his voice. “If I’m to carry out these punishments I think it’s best I’m told the whole story so that I can proceed in the proper fashion.”

“You wish to be informed of the discretion?”

“If you’re offering, I wouldn’t complain.”

“You have been informed of the attempt on the Captain’s life, have you not?”

“I have.”

“Then I do not see any reason why you cannot perform your duties.”

McCoy could feel the weight of expectation on his shoulders. Every eye in the room was on him and he had no ideas to help him get through this. “Damn it, Spock, I’m a doctor, not a mind reader,” he proclaimed. “You can’t expect me to know what’s wanted of me unless I’m told. These blasted dials don’t turn themselves and I want to know how far to turn them and for how long without having to guess on the Captain’s behalf!”

Spock inclined his head half an inch and took a thoughtful breath. McCoy swallowed, breathing hard, wondering if his complaints had been enough. Maybe he should have just done as Fenton said, maybe he should have just done what needed doing instead of hammering nails into his own coffin. “Captain,” Spock finally said, turning to regard Kirk who gave him a wary stare. “If you would be so kind as to wait here, I believe this matter would be best discussed in private.”

Kirk nodded once, slowly. “If… you think that’s best, Mr. Spock.”

Turning back to McCoy, Spock nodded as well. “Dr. McCoy, if you will accompany me to the adjoining office,” he requested, then pivoted in place and marched out of the room.

Bones shared an uncertain expression with Kirk before looking around the room at the villainous officers and following after the Vulcan. He proceeded cautiously down the short hall to another door that the commander was waiting at. Had he not been preoccupied with the suspense of being led into a secluded room by Spock he might have noticed his own name written on a plaque on the wall and may even have been curious as to what his double’s office space was like in relation to his own. But as it stood he watched the insignia on the door disappear into the wall and stepped into the room with dread.

The room they entered was spacious, occupied by a desk covered in paperwork by the far wall and a tiny lounge-type area to his left compete with a chair, a loveseat, and a table sporting a modest collection of bottles. He heard the door slide shut behind him and listened in alarm as Spock instructed the computer to lock it. Too apprehensive to move, McCoy stood stock-still as the Vulcan walked past him toward the cluttered desk before turning to face the doctor with an unreadable look.

They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity, Bones near the door with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides and Spock standing across from him with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. The knife at his hip kept the doctor’s attention and he wrapped himself in the expectation that it would come flying at his head at any moment. Did this Spock feel? Did he go into rages and flatten his enemies with a single blow? The imagination ran wild with possibilities in the eternity of stillness that probably only lasted a few seconds.

When Spock did speak, the sound of his voice made McCoy jump internally. “You are not Dr. McCoy,” he said simply.

For a moment Bones did not respond, could not. It took him a while just to process the statement before he could answer, “Now, what makes you say that?”

A tiny Vulcan smirk played at Spock’s mouth. “Doctor, it would be useless for you to deny the truth. You are not Leornard McCoy. At least, not the McCoy that I know. Neither is the Captain himself.”

McCoy tried to laugh it off, looking around the room uncomfortably and saying, “Those Vulcan senses of yours must be on the fritz, Spock. Of course I’m McCoy, who else would I be?”

Any trace of amusement disappeared from Spock’s face and he brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a phaser. He didn’t point it anywhere, just let it hang at his side, but McCoy’s eyes were utterly fixed on it, terror crawling up his back. “As you do not appear to be hostile, I would prefer not to use violence,” Spock told him. “But should your answers be unsatisfactory, I will have no choice but to fire. I know that you are not who you claim to be and neither is the Captain. I can also presume that the other two members of the away team have been replaced as well. However, what I do not know is who you really are or where the true away team is. I give you the opportunity to provide me with the answer, but be aware that your comrades are also under watch.”

Bones swallowed hard, looking between Spock and his phaser. He would need to be careful. No matter who he looked like this man was no better than a stranger to him, no matter how many similarities there may have been between him and the other Spock. The situation was wildly unpredictable. However, he was still a Vulcan, McCoy thought, and as such he would listen and be reasonable. Or so he hoped.

“Alright, so I’m not McCoy,” he said carefully. “Neither are Jim, Uhura or Scotty themselves. But that doesn’t mean we’re lying, just… a little displaced.” Spock didn’t react in the slightest and McCoy took it as a sign to keep going. “We’re from another universe.” That got the eyebrow going. “Somehow, thanks to that transporter accident, we’ve crossed over into a parallel universe and switched places with your away team. God only knows what havoc they’re causing on our side. We were going to try to get back to the transporter room and be on our way home just as soon as Jim and Uhura could get away from their duties, but…”

“You did not foresee your own.”

“We don’t have anything like that machine. Our Enterprise is a great deal more peaceful than this one. We don’t believe violence is the answer to all life’s questions.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully. “Your position does appear to be troubling.”

“So you believe me?”

“I do.”

“So a Vulcan is still a Vulcan, no matter what universe you’re in. Could’ve fooled me with that beard you’re sprouting there. Gotta be honest, Spock, I thought you were going to take more convincing.”

Carefully returning the phaser to its holster, Spock shook his head. “Your story, however incredible, is logical. There have been a great many studies by philosophers and scientists alike on the existence of parallel universes and by all knowledge it should be reasonable for them to exist. Minor differences in choice and event leading to alternate paths and, ultimately, alternate timelines. While it was not one of my foremost theories on the Captain’s odd behaviour it is no less credible than the others. The very fact that you selected it over a more likely lie suggests that you are telling the truth.”

Some distrust lingered in the doctor’s heart. It all seemed much too easy. Keep steady, Bones, he told himself, if this is some Vulcan trick it’s a damn good one. “Vulcans don’t lie,” he said. “Isn’t that right?”

“Doctor, your mistrust is quite understandable. However it is counterproductive and will only serve to prolong your stay here.”

“What happens if I do trust you?”

Spock dipped his head and raised his eyebrows as though running scenarios in his head. The similarities between the two Spocks was oddly comforting. They had never gotten along, their dialogue mostly pointed jabs and careful teasing, but McCoy had never known Spock to purposefully harm him, and certainly not Jim. But he suppressed his hope, preferring to stay wary just in case. He had already seen enough differences to know this Spock was far less compassionate, however odd it sounded to say.

“The most logical course of action would be to return the full away team to their original universe and hope that in doing so our own away team is returned to us. If we can recreate the circumstances under which the transfer took place we should be able to recreate the effect as well.”

“Scotty’s already been working on a solution,” McCoy replied. “He had a theory, I think, we just needed to get down to a transporter room to figure out if it worked.”

“But the Captain and Lt. Uhura were still indisposed.”

“Yes. They were taking so long I damn near charged onto the Bridge to pull ‘em out of there myself.”

“Such action would be unwise.”

“Didn’t I say ‘damn near’?”

A hint of a smile once again played at the corners of Spock’s mouth. Around the beard it was more difficult to see the tiny scraps of emotion the Vulcan let through, but McCoy know him well enough to recognize the slight twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps a more effective strategy would be to contact Lt. Uhura over the comms under the guise of a translation consult. Prior to this, I will ensure that Mr. Scott gains access to whatever equipment he requires to put his theory to use and to help him to the best of my abilities. By my understanding, his work should be brief, however it would be advisable for both you and the Captain to return to your duties to avoid suspicion.”

McCoy scowled at the prospect of spending more time amongst the torturous nurses of this Enterprise and cast Spock a reproachful look. “I don’t know why, Spock, maybe it’s that singular charm of yours, but I trust you. You’re all I’ve got to go on here. But the things happening in that Medbay are beyond criminal. I’d like to spend as little time down there as possible.”

“That would prove to be a non-issue, Doctor, as Mr. Scott and I will be done by the time you are finished with your current patient.”

“Current patient…” McCoy muttered, momentarily forgetting the whole reason that Spock had pulled him aside in the first place. It didn’t take long before he recalled the sound of young Chekov banging his hands against the glass walls of his enclosure and a new sense of dread and disgust welled up within him. “Now wait just a damn minute, Spock, you expect me to turn on that torture machine? There is no way in any universe that I am subjecting any man to such pain, no matter what he’s done!”

“I believe you misunderstand,” the Vulcan replied smoothly. “The Booth is a form of punishment, yes, but the ultimate goal is execution. If your duties are performed correctly, Mr. Chekov will not survive the process.”

For a brief moment Bones could do nothing but stare at Spock in horror. Not just torture, but execution. His worst fears were realized and it took all his strength not to grab a bottle from the table and fling it at Spock’s head. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “I wasn’t willing to torture the man, what makes you think I’d be willing to kill him? For God’s sake, Spock, he’s just a boy!”

“Mr. Chekov has performed an act of mutiny and execution is the regular sentence. Proceeding with any other action could result in suspicion.”

“There has to be another way! There’s got to be some sort of loophole or regulation to prevent this from happening.”

“The only person with the power to reduce his sentence is the Captain, but-“

“Then do it! Jim is on our side! Let him reduce the sentence!”

“But it is highly unusual and could lower your chances of escape.”

“Who cares!” he shouted.

“I believe your comrades would care,” Spock replied calmly. “And it stands to reason that my own Captain would care and so would your counterpart. They are both highly volatile men, it would be very difficult for them to go unnoticed if your ship is as peaceful as you claim it to be, and your crewmates in the other universe would no doubt notice your absence.”

McCoy listened and damn it all he agreed. But even knowing the consequences of his refusing to turn on the Booth, even knowing that if he didn’t do it someone else would probably do the job for him and Chekov would meet the same fate, he simply couldn’t do it. The idea of it was too sickening. “There’s got to be another way,” he repeated quietly, before finally looking away from his new ally and wandering restlessly over to the drinks table. “There’s always another way we just have to find it.”

“There is no other way.”

This time McCoy didn’t restrain himself and the bottle smashed against the wall behind Spock’s head sending synthale splashing to the floor. “There’s always another way!” McCoy insisted. “We’ve been in worse situations than this, and we always manage to sort it all out, always! Kirk comes up with a plan, that brilliant mind of his works out some sort of strategy, or you come up with some useful information for a change. There’s never ‘no other way.’ If you say it’s impossible then you really do have a different Jim Kirk than I do or you’re not as smart as you think! So get Kirk in here and we’ll work up a plan! Give us a chance at it before shutting us down!”

“Regulations-“

“Regulations!” McCoy spat, “Since when has this disaster of a starship followed any sort of regulations? I saw things down in that Medbay that would make your hair curl and your ears straighten out, and you can bet none of it was following any sort of regulations!”

“Doctor, please try to control yourself.”

“Or what?!”

Wordlessly, Spock reached down and pulled his phaser out of its holster. This time he did point it at McCoy, and with his heart racing the doctor fell silent. Satisfied, Spock said, “As you have pointed out, this is not your ship. This is not your universe. It would be best for you to follow the advice of a man who does belong here.”

“I thought Vulcans were supposed to abhor violence in all its forms.”

“There are times, Doctor, when violence is the only logical course of action. I do not wish to fire, but if you continue to be hysterical I will have no choice. The fastest way to solve your problem is to follow reason, and if you allow your emotions to cloud your judgment then you will never return to your Enterprise.”

Exhaustion swept over McCoy, the realization that he couldn’t fight this beginning to overwhelm his need to keep Chekov safe. Slowly he sat down in the armchair and stared down at the floor. “He’s just a boy.”

“Mr. Chekov attempted to kill the Captain, and he has committed a great many more acts of aggression and hostility throughout his Starfleet career. His ambitions corrupted him and we are left with no choice but to punish that corruption.”

“Positive punishment never worked, it’s a proven fact. He’s lived the wrong life, everything he’s done wrong is the result of that. People aren’t inherently bad, and they don’t deserve to be punished or killed for what the world’s turned them into.” He sighed and looked up at the Vulcan with tired eyes. “He’s the product of this institution he’s grown up in, he never had the chance to be the Chekov I know.”

“Precisely, Doctor, he is not the Chekov you know.”

“Would you put that phaser down? I’m not going to try anything, I’m too damn tired.” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as Spock tucked the weapon back in its cradle. It felt like he had just run a marathon only to be told they had forgotten to set up a finish line. There was no ending, no other options, he was running himself ragged for no existing reason. “I made an oath, Spock. I made an oath to never harm another man. If I kill him…”

“You will be saving the lives of four other people.”

“Don’t give me that ‘needs of the many’ swallop, I’ve heard it all before.” He sighed and clasped his hands together. “I know the others are in danger, so am I. I know that if I don’t do this we’ll probably never get home. But you have to understand, it’s hard to wrap my mind around what you’re asking me to do.”

Spock cocked his head and took a few steps toward McCoy, the first time he had moved since they entered the room, and spoke in a measured voice. “Doing the right thing… can often appear to be the opposite. There are times when there are no ‘right’ options, only options we are given. When options are provided one must choose the most logical course of action, and in cases where none are ‘right’ we must choose the one that will cause the least damage. Mr. Chekov knew what he was doing. He knew what the result would be if he failed in his scheme. He expects nothing less.”

“The lesser of two evils,” McCoy agreed. Spock was now standing only a few feet away and, looking up at him, McCoy could see nothing but sincerity. Spock was trying to help in the only way he knew how and, to his credit, what he said made sense. No matter how terrible the truth was, the Vulcan was right; McCoy was sitting in a parallel universe with a loaded gun in his hand and no options left but to shoot someone. The only choice that remained was who. “I still don’t know if I can trust you,” he said, “but right now you’re all I’ve got. Why me, though? Tell me that at least, why am I the one in charge of this monstrosity?”

“You are the Chief Medical Officer,” Spock said simply. “The effects of the Booth are varied depending on the physique of the individual, making it a delicate operation to perform. You are therefor the most qualified officer onboard to perform these duties.”

“Death,” McCoy scoffed. “Doesn’t seem to be much delicacy in that.”

“The death cannot be to quickly achieved, there must be suffering.”

“Now what kind of logic is that?”

“Human.”

Once more McCoy looked up at Spock, and this time he saw something else in him. He saw a Vulcan, beaten and resigned. A Vulcan who had spent his career with the most brutal versions of the human race that could be conceived. A Vulcan who had likely spent his entire life trying to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could do but sit back and watch as this aggressive and tyrannical race took over the quadrant with nothing but hostility and destruction. This was still his Spock, he realized, just one who had long ago given up.

“You don’t want this any more than I do, do you.”

“I cannot question my superiors.”

“But if you could.” McCoy sat up straight and attempted to look through the careful Vulcan gaze to the man he knew lay beneath it. “Spock – our Spock – would never allow such an atrocity to occur. He was never afraid to correct anyone or resolve a conflict by sheer, irritating logic. He would have stood up for the man in that Booth and said ‘no.’ He would have put a stop to it. Now you try to convince me that you’re a different person than he is, but I don’t accept that. You are a Vulcan. And no matter what universe this is, Vulcans have standards. You know this is wrong and you’ve known it for years. What do you plan to do when you make Captain, eh Spock? Just sit back for another decade or so and conform to the rules you’ve been given? I don’t believe that. Even though your heart pumps green instead of red it knows this isn’t right.” He stood up and placed his hands on the blue-clad shoulders, holding on like his life depended on it. “But you can fix this. I know you, even if you don’t think I do, and I know you’ve got something hidden up your sleeve to make this all right. This is your chance, Spock, to make sense out of everything these humans have done to you. This is your chance to change things in this universe.”

They stood for a moment, eye to eye and not a word between them. Bones couldn’t tell what Spock was going to say, whether he would agree or not. No matter what he said this was certainly a different place and different circumstances. This Spock was tired, had been fighting all his life. Who knew if he would want to keep trying.

“Doctor…” McCoy perked up and searched Spock’s eyes desperately. “I believe you are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment.” McCoy sighed and threw up his hands. He cast his gaze to the ceiling and began to wander back to the armchair. “However,” the Vulcan continued as the doctor sat down, “you are not incorrect in some of your assumptions.” Taking a seat on the loveseat, Spock leaned his elbows on his knees in a very un-Vulcan fashion and gazed at the distant floor as he spoke. “I joined Starfleet in the hopes of experiencing academia and knowledge in a way that my homeworld could not provide, and yet I find that these areas are severely lacking.” He tilted his head and admitted, “I do admire the Captain, for his faults he is an intelligent man, but he is also the pinnacle of all human values. He is crass and belligerent, he strives for domination rather than exploration, and for that he is one of the most decorated officers in Starfleet. You are incorrect in your prediction that I hope to be captain in the future. I much prefer my current duties to those that Captain Kirk performs, and I see no benefit in taking on the dangers his position provides. There is little I can change from my position as first officer.”

McCoy’s heart sunk. He wasn’t certain what he was trying to achieve through his little speech, but hearing such grim reports from his only hope of rescue was difficult to shoulder. But he couldn’t give up. They were swiftly running out of time and he needed to be certain Spock was on their side. He needed to know that his values were the same and he was willing to make what changes he could. Most of all, he needed to know that no matter what happened in the room they had just departed things could change. There could be no more of this, he couldn’t let this carry on.

“Your Captain isn’t here,” he insisted. “Mine is. My Jim Kirk can help you change things here until yours returns. We may not be able to see it through, but we can set things in motion.” He edged forward in his seat and leaned in close. “There is a boy in that room, a man, who doesn’t deserve what’s about to be done to him. You can change that. Maybe change won’t come all at once, but you can try. For all that is logical, you can try. If we can save even one person, this whole accident might have been worth it.”

“We are not friends,” Spock replied without so much as a glance at McCoy. “Not in this lifetime. But I believe that in another, we might have been.”

“Now who’s getting emotional?”

A twitch of the beard suggested a smile and Bones couldn’t help but return a hopeful one of his own. Finally he turned his head and returned the doctor’s gaze. “Mr. Chekov does not need to die. Prolonged punishment and confinement to his quarters may be enough for him to be labeled as an example. As you say, he is young. His superiors may have much to gain from witnessing the results of his punishment.”

“There now, y’see? Death isn’t the answer to all life’s problems.”

“It will take work,” Spock continued. “But I believe that changes may be possible if the correct pressures are applied. You must know, however, that diversion from the norm, no matter how minor, could lead to suspicion?” He straightened in his seat and McCoy mirrored him. “Any chances we take now will heighten the risk toward you and your away team.”

“I understand. And I know the others would agree.”

Spock gave him a curious look. “Is one life really so valuable in you universe?”

“Not to everyone,” McCoy admitted. “But to those of us who matter, the value is infinite.”

Spock nodded gravely and stood, his long figure towering over McCoy and somehow seeming straighter than it had when he had sat down. “Then if you accept the risks of your decision, it would be wise for us to return to the room before our absence is cause for mistrust.”

“I agree entirely,” McCoy replied as he stood. And he did agree. As Spock led the two of them out of the room and described the operation McCoy would be performing, the doctor felt the glow of accomplishment deep in his chest. They may not have achieved much during their conversation, but it was enough. Chekov would live and that was enough. He had to admit that as far as long term changes went, he had doubt Spock would be very successful. He was but one man in this backwards universe, and however intelligent he may be in the way of academia, McCoy could not begin to imagine him as a revolutionary.

As the reentered the room there were the obligatory salutes and although there were glances of confusion toward both himself and the Vulcan, there was nothing to suggest to McCoy that his cover was in any danger. After a quick sidebar with the Captain, Spock announced to Lt. Fenton that Ensign Chekov was to be allowed his life as a warning to all others who tried to go against the hierarchy. Fenton frowned, but put up little fuss as he reluctantly agreed to the sentence. Spock nodded to McCoy on his way by and joined a newly stoic Kirk by the doorway.

Whatever glow McCoy had felt upon entering the room dissipated entirely the moment he locked eyes once more with the young Russian in his enclosure. The reality of what he still had to do was a difficult one and once he had taken up position behind the control panel the doubt returned to his mind and he began to question once more if what he was doing was right. He threw a look over to the door where Spock and Kirk stood, obviously present to ensure he did what needed to be done. Kirk evidently had been told at least some of what was to occur as his stony features hid the heart that was sympathetic to his friend. McCoy only kept his gaze for as long as he dared, sapping up whatever courage he could find in those eyes and turning it toward his task.

The dials were so cold and methodical that looking at them almost made him forget that they controlled the future of a man only half his age. Having never used them before he would need to be careful, pay attention to the vitals that were being displayed on a screen next to the controls. Locating the necessary buttons and switches to begin the events, based on what Spock had instructed him on during their brief trip back from the office, he looked up at his patient and turned on the Booth.

The screams stayed with him even after Chekov had lost consciousness. Even once the machine had been turned off they still rung in his ears like a reminder of what he had done. As the security guards who had carried Chekov in lifted him back out McCoy averted his gaze. He didn’t need to see the results of his work.

Kirk and Spock had left some time earlier, presumably to join Scotty in his efforts to find them a way home. Leaving the room in a fog, he asked the computer where they had gone and followed the directions it gave him down to one of the lower transporter rooms. Uhura had joined the others and welcomed him back with a warm hug and several concerned remarks about the worries he had caused her. She made no mention of the Booth or of Chekov, and looking over to Kirk, McCoy had to assume that she had not been told. The two men nodded to one another grimly before the doctor was brought up to speed by Scotty on a bunch of mechanical equations that made no real sense to him. Evidently, Spock’s assistance had moved things along quickly and they were presently ready for transport.

In no time at all, they were home.

Spock – the real Spock – stood waiting for them, calm and collected as always, as though they hadn’t just proven the existence of other universes. In that familiar voice he welcomed them home and that seemed to be enough for the Captain. Kirk stepped off the transporter pad and went over to his first officer, eyes full of fondness, and asked what had occurred while they had been away. Scotty and Uhura, blissfully ignorant, were all smiles, happy simply to be home where they belonged. Spock gave a brief overview of what had happened on their Enterprise – the sudden appearance of the villainous landing party and the subsequent deliberations that had gone into sending them home – and the group listened intently. Except for Bones. 

Somehow he didn’t feel the relief the others did. There was still a sense of tension in his gut like it wasn’t over yet. Of course he knew they were home, he had this clean-shaven Vulcan to prove that, but despite that knowledge he still felt as though things were not quite right. He kept expecting Spock to pull an agonizer and tell them it had all been a ruse, kept glancing at the hips of the officers in the room to ensure that they were absent of knives.

Kirk was positively shining, casting his grin about the room as though his crew had just given him the greatest gift he could ever ask for. And McCoy supposed that the Captain was proud of them for making it through and for solving yet another puzzle that this hellscape called space threw at them. He tried to look alert and upbeat like the rest of them, but when Kirk decided that they would have a debriefing in ten minutes to go over the events in more detail McCoy excused himself. He told them he was feeling rather tired and had a great deal of work waiting for him in his office and that, being stuck in sickbay for most of the ordeal, he would have very little to contribute. Kirk’s smile softened and his eyes grew apologetic. He placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder and told him that he should do whatever he felt necessary.

Returning to his own office in Sickbay, McCoy felt a little better. He looked around and took in the familiar setting, reassuring himself that he was back. It was over.

He took a seat in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and poured himself a glass of Saurian brandy. Chapel came by with questions and paperwork, but he waved her off, preferring to sit and sip at his drink, and try to shake off the heavy feeling that had settled on his shoulders.

“There’s no reason to feel like this,” he muttered to himself after a few minutes. “You did what needed doing, there’s no shame in that.”

He took another sip and then reached over to the Padd sitting on his desk. He looked through the list of patients that day and noted that it had been a rather quiet day while he was gone. Only a few patients, one or two with light cuts from the squabble with the mirror universe away team and Lt. Aghostinos had been back with a headache. There was still plenty to do, however, stuff he had been putting off for a good long while that were approaching their deadlines, but try as he might he could not focus on any of it. There was still something lurking at the back of his mind.

After a few minutes of trying and failing to read a report from Starfleet he set down the Padd and turned on his comm system to the Bridge. Ten more minutes and the door slid open revealing young Ensign Chekov, his distain of the Medbay masked by an eagerness for orders.

“You called, sir?” he asked innocently. He always had an odd way of combining stiff protocol with familiar phrasing and McCoy couldn’t help but give a small quirk of the lip.

“Yes I did,” he replied absently. Looking up at that fresh face and goofy haircut, McCoy wasn’t sure what he felt. This was his Chekov and his Chekov was safe. He was unharmed. In all his time in Starfleet, McCoy had seen so much. He had seen the best and the worst of humanity. He had seen gods and aliens and black holes and parallel universes. Wars and famines and disease to boggle the mind. And seeing all these things, participating in the universe, he had changed. He was tired and not too proud to admit he was growing cynical in his old age. He may live for another hundred years or so, but he already felt as though he had seen enough. Had experienced enough. And he knew enough to understand that he would never again be as foolish and naïve as Chekov.

The boy was intelligent and kind and stubborn and foolhardy and McCoy wondered if he had been the same at that age. No, he was still too young to be thinking that. He wasn’t 22 anymore, but he certainly wasn’t an old fogy either. He had been through a lot, but there was still plenty to come, he was sure of it, and no matter what happened he needed to stay strong and do what was best for the crew. He was a doctor, above all else, and it was his job to protect the people aboard this ship. They were young and had promise. There were great things ahead of men like Chekov, and no matter what happened McCoy needed to make certain that they were all still around to reach that potential.

“Sir?” Chekov asked, looking a little uncomfortable. “Was there something you wanted?”

Embarrassment hummed in McCoy’s ears as he realized that he had been wordlessly staring at Chekov for quite some time, and he sat up a little straighter in an attempt to reclaim his dignity. “No,” he said, allowing himself a gentle smile. “No, I suppose there isn’t. Thank you, Chekov. You may return to your post.”

“Aye, sir,” Chekov replied uncertainly before slowly stepping back out into the hall, casting a few confused glances over his shoulder.

McCoy watched him go and watched the door slide shut behind him. A moment passed in silence as he sat there considering the shut door and then he leaned forward and took up his Padd once more. Flipping back to the beginning of the report he leaned back and put up his feet and took a sip of his brandy.


End file.
